London still churned as usual, streets held by punks like feral dogs, police fencing them like a slow tide. It seemed that way, yet it was only the Underworld clashing beneath the city’s shadow.

Thankfully, the people in the underground shelters stayed cool like stones in a stream, living off supplies like stored winter grain. Maybe Underworld planners had long considered this storm, and shelters took root once conflict spilled into the Outer World.

The place was fully equipped, sealed from the surface like a buried chamber, yet even news reached them like a thin ray.

“International news: London’s situation is gradually stabilizing.” The anchor’s voice rang like metal. “The rampant terrorists have been arrested one by one, and the capital should be secure soon.”

“Still, who’d have thought terrorists would nest in London like rats in old walls.”

“Correct. The UN Security Council has issued its assessment, and rumors of a mafia presence are baseless noise, smoke without fire.”

“Rest assured, the Security Council can resolve this, so don’t spread talk of world war like wildfire. That concludes today’s news.”

The broadcast laid out the situation plainly, words clicking like beads, and people met it with sighs first and then thin smiles like paper fans.

Even with big events unfolding, folks didn’t feel rattled; their days flowed unchanged like a familiar river, which for everyone was best.

People never knew they lived beside another face of the world, and so they drifted calmly like leaves on a quiet pond.

If they ever learned the Underworld existed, that would be the worst storm of all.

Andrea stood on the coast, watching the far sea glint like steel, thoughts unmapped like fog rolling in.

After a while she turned, looking toward Mizuki, who trained like a white gull slicing wind—her student in name.

“Mizuki, do you miss home?” Her voice fell soft like evening rain.

“Eh…?” The question caught Mizuki like a fish snagged mid-stream.

The sudden ask choked her; words tangled like vine, and Mizuki couldn’t answer.

“You’ve been here a while, right? Don’t you want to go back and look around like a traveler returning at dusk?”

“Um… Andrea, what do you mean?” Her eyes flickered like lamps.

“These days are quiet like still water. Go see your home and school; endless training turns bland like rice left cold.”

“But… what’s wrong with you?” She felt a ripple like wind across wheat.

“Soon I’ll head back to the battlefield like a bird to storm, and I may fail my duty. Mizuki, while time still breathes, be with family and friends.”

Her words folded the shore into quiet, and Mizuki held silence like a cup. Andrea feared not returning from war and wanted her home first.

Besides, her work in the Underworld was a sealed box to her family, a shadow they never saw.

Going back to see them felt right, like lighting a lantern before night.

“I understand. Thank you, Miss Andrea.” Her gratitude rose like warm steam.

She had grumbled in her heart about not having time to visit Japan, but it stayed a soft murmur like rain, not a tantrum.

If Andrea didn’t allow it, Mizuki wouldn’t ask; her restraint sat like a tied ribbon.

“Remember, keep whatever time you have like sand in your palm, and don’t fuss over training too much.”

“But…” Her voice hung like a thread.

“I truly don’t have much left to teach you,” Andrea said, words falling like petals.

It wasn’t her dodging duty alone; she felt she’d taught enough, and Mizuki had quietly learned to stand alone like a sapling turning tree.

She couldn’t walk every mile beside her; she laid the road like stones, not marched as a pair.

Mizuki had family, and things she must guard like a shrine—different from Andrea’s solitary path.

Mizuki said nothing; she bowed deeply, gratitude flowing like clear spring for these days.

She knew training hadn’t ended, and her road stretched long like a horizon; whether Andrea taught or not, she was already Mizuki’s mentor.

“Miss Andrea, do you have plans soon?” Mizuki asked, a curious stone tossed into still water.

The odd question landed, raising ripples like rings on a pond.

“No, why ask?” Andrea’s brows shifted like small wings.

“Well… if you don’t mind, come back to Japan with me?” Her invitation opened like a gate.

Invited—Andrea’s mind held only that word, echoing like a bell.

With things unstable, flying out of London felt wrong like sailing in storm; Mizuki chose a flight from Ireland back to Japan.

Andrea went with her, and passports and security passed them like smooth wind, their Underworld identities shielding even if they carried firearms.

Off the plane, Mizuki breathed familiar air like sweet tea, and comfort washed over her.

After the war with the Divine Ling Family, she’d drifted abroad like a kite; home and school had slipped behind.

It had been months, yet it felt like years—time stretched like dusk shadows.

Now she was back, and joy rose like sunrise.

“So this is Japan…” Andrea’s eyes moved like measuring lines.

Andrea’s gaze skimmed the scene like a brush. Today she wasn’t in her usual Witch attire; a sleeveless shirt and denim shorts framed her shape like sculpture, a mature scent like ripe plums. Even Mizuki felt a prickle of envy like a tiny thorn.

“Is this your first time here, Miss Andrea?” Mizuki asked, voice bright like a bell.

“I’ve heard of this place and fought people from the Clan Head before, but stepping in is a first,” Andrea said, words cool like shade.

“Then you’ll make memories this time like pressed flowers! Our school’s holding a sports festival.” Her smile spilled like light. “I’m in some events. I thought I’d miss it and felt down like rain, but being back now makes me so happy!”

She was clearly thrilled, able to return and to catch the sports festival like catching a train at the last second.

She’d been training overseas like a soldier, and coming home at sixteen lit her like lanterns.

“As long as you’re happy,” Andrea said, voice flat like still water.

That fit her nature, calm as stone.

“By the way, stay at my place while you’re in Japan! My mom and sister are super warm, like a hearth.”

“No, I’ll find a hotel,” Andrea replied, keeping distance like a drawn line.

“I already called Mom, so don’t worry,” Mizuki said, tugging her along like a playful breeze.

She gave Andrea no chance to refuse, pulling her home by the hand like a bright ribbon.

Seeing the cheer on Mizuki’s profile like sunlight, Andrea couldn’t resist that warmth.

It stirred memories of her own bright past like a photo warmed in the palm, a chapter she couldn’t forget.

As a mentor, making a student smile felt like compulsory study; Andrea said it quietly in her heart like a vow.

At the Kiishi household, returning after long days felt sweet like ripe fruit, and Mizuki’s mother was delighted.

Seeing the clearly foreign Andrea, she grew warm like fire, and hearing Andrea was Mizuki’s mentor—at least in name—her respect deepened like a bow.

“Nice to meet you, sensei,” her mother said, voice gentle like silk. “I’m this child’s mother. Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“Please don’t call me ‘teacher’; I’m younger than you,” Andrea said, polite like a fan. “My name is Andrea Alex.”

Andrea was a little overwhelmed by the mother’s warmth, like snow meeting a hearth.

“Ah, sorry then, I’ll just call you Andrea,” the mother laughed, light like wind chimes.

“Mm, pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Andrea replied, manners set like porcelain.

Mizuki’s sister, watching from the side, munched snacks like sparrows and muttered, “When did this girl go out and bring back a teacher… and one so…”

Staring at Andrea’s sculpted curves and effortless charm like perfume, the sister felt a stab of defeat like a pin.

Mizuki didn’t notice; she floated in the joy of home like a boat on calm water, thinking mostly of when to meet her friends.

She had no idea her friends’ ties had knotted into something complex like tangled threads.

No one knew Mizuki was back, not even Yun Shi, who was busy with her own affairs like juggling knives.

After returning from the scene, Yun Shi felt drained like a wick; getting nothing left a mix of feelings like bitter tea.

What shocked her was the shooter’s badge from the Four Pupils Clan. It was the Clan Head she once served, a spark that flared and then died.

Suddenly her phone chimed like a small bell. She opened it: a Student Council member messaged about the sports festival’s opening ceremony.

Honestly, without the ping she would’ve forgotten; the ceremony was tomorrow like a deadline.

Seeing the sender’s name stirred mixed feelings like sediment in water.

“What should I even do…” she murmured, words falling like ash.

She scratched her head raw in thought, but answers dodged her like fish.

Mai and the others were strained to breaking like a frozen branch, and Yun Shi felt adrift like fog.

She didn’t bother changing; she lay on the bed staring at the ceiling like a blank sky, unsure whether she was thinking Underworld or Outer World.

Morning came, and her apartment was quiet to the point of fear, silence ticking like a clock’s drip. She lived alone by habit, but the loneliness rasped like dry leaves.

Must’ve had a nightmare… she thought, words faint like smoke.

Yun Shi rubbed her temples like grinding stones and dragged herself to the bathroom like a tide pulling in.

Her clothes dropped to the doorway piece by piece like falling petals, and with the underwear tossed out, the door clicked shut like a blink.

Warm water fell from the showerhead like soft rain; even as it washed her clear back like porcelain, comfort didn’t come.

She hammered the wall with both hands like drums, her whole body answering with a posture of pain like a bent reed.

The pressure was crushing, Underworld events pulling her concern like ropes; no matter how she wished to ignore them, she couldn’t look away.

And in the Outer World, her friends weighed on her. First Sham, then Mai’s confession, then two others injured—harmony splintered like glass.

Both sides pressed her, each heavy like a mountain, and she could barely breathe.

She knew there was no road back, only forward like a narrow bridge.

She shut the water off; drenched, she stepped out carrying a raw allure like a rose in rain.

Dressed and combed, she patted her chest lightly like checking armor, and only then opened the door to leave.

She had no appetite for breakfast, walking to school with a blank stomach like an empty drum.

School was gearing up for the festival ceremony, buzzing like a fair, every face bright with laughter like lanterns.

Out of place, Yun Shi tasted solitude like bitter herbs; after noise, returning to one was hard like cold wind.

Suddenly someone tapped her shoulder like a quick sparrow, and she turned by habit like a spinning leaf.

“Yun Shi, prep duties now. Head over,” a classmate said, voice casual like daylight.

Just a regular classmate greeting her—disappointment lifted like a small sigh.